


No Eyes Only

by Keenir



Series: Prodesse Quam Conspici - To Be of Service [1]
Category: Covert Affairs
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-23
Updated: 2011-07-29
Packaged: 2017-10-21 16:45:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/227394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keenir/pseuds/Keenir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary:  What brought Auggie to work for the CIA.</p><p>Coda to 2.07 - the Istanbul episode.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sororcula](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Sororcula).



> POV: Auggie's.  
> Coda to 2.07 - the Istanbul episode.  
> Dedication: To Sororcula, welcome to the ~~jungle~~ fandom.
> 
> Warning: I can't make heads or tails of the Tash situation in regards to who Auggie worked for, so I'm just ignoring Tash. Yes, Auggie is not pleased.  
> also, Auggie's mind wanders a little during the retelling.
> 
> Disclaimer: None of the canon characters are mine. If they were, Liza and Auggie would be together again; there would be references to Parker, Hardison, and Eliot; and Annie would be dating Agent Rossabi.

_I want to tell you something. What I said before, that wasn't the beginning of my story. But as far as my present career is concerned, I gave you the foundation._

 _  
_This is what brought me in._   
_

  
**~~**   


**Location: Ramstein, Germany, 2008:**

I could still feel the warmth of the sun, even if there was a pane of glass in the way. Bats aren't blind, tapeworms can tell light from dark; I was worse off than either - tapeworms don't have eyes to damage, for one. Or both - at the time, grammar wasn't something keeping me up nights.

"Captain Anderson, you have a visitor," the Duty Nurse told me. Tremaine, I think her name was.

"Cute?" I ask.

"I think so," said someone I didn't know. A tall man, based on what I could hear.

"Did you show him the door?" I ask her.

"She's not cleared for that," that guy said. "Thank you," he told Nurse Tremaine, followed by I assumed something along the lines of 'I'll holler if I need something' because she left me alone with him. Or him with me - again, grammar. Or syntax.

"Let me guess," I said. "The Army wants me to give some more motivational speeches, fire up the recruits and college kids."

"I imagine they would."

Something in his voice... "But that's not why you're here, is it?"

"Seems your commanding officers weren't exagerating your perceptiveness. Always good to know." Later, I found out I had also been given good reviews by the CIA guys who with and around my unit.

"You never gave your name," I said.

"True." Later on, he would say he smiled at this point, but I don't know. "Jai Wilcox."

"And is that name supposed to mean something to me?"

 _Here's_ where I don't doubt Jai smiled. Wasn't until I completed my time on the Farm that I learned about the Wilcoxes. Wilcoxs. Wilcoxi. Not just grammar, bad Latin grammar.

And with the tone of someone relieved to have a change of pace, he said, "Nothing at all."

"Then why are you here?" I asked him. "Offer me a job?"

"No. A career."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The disappearance of someone Auggie knew before and after being blinded. And Auggie was not pleased. And then...
> 
> Dedication: To Shanachiequill, thank you for inspiring my muses. I hope this doesn't squash any bunnies.

_A few years ago, two of the CIA's finest agents became ghosts. One of them was someone you already know - Ben Mercer. The other was Abish Clarke._

 _Yes, Jai recruited me. But Abish kept me from turning into an office drone like some of our fellow - you're nodding, I take it. What did I ask you about that?_

 _And no, she didn't sleep with me. She was much more insidiously clever. Kinda like you when you try._

**~~**

**2006:**   
**Southern Iraq:**

It wasn't the first time I'd met her - third, actually. The first was in the middle of Hattashushash, Turkey. But every time, she was definately larger than life.

After the briefing, in which she told us and our Shia allies what was needed - expected - of us, I was one of the last out of the tent. She liked tents. And she followed me out, stopping when her partly-covered face was exposed to the evening breeze. I like to think I was at least part of the reason why her cheeks were tinged with a touch of pink, but it really was chilly.

Clearly remembering one of my earlier wisecracks, she told me, "Some of us don't need to shine, Anderson."

"Can't see my rank in this light?" I asked her. I'm not kidding: her visual acuity was different every time I ran into her. Color-blind and nearsighted once. Once, during my time on the Farm, her ID said she was a congenital achromatope.

"Every stitch."

"Then -"

"Did I just give you a mission for your team to accomplish before nightfall tomorrow?"

"You did."

"And do you think I have other things to do, of equal or greater importance?"

I nod.

"I can't hear you." At the time, I didn't think anything of it. Everybody uses that line, right?

Whether they do or not, a lot of how I deal with peoples' _OMG you're blind dude_ comes from her. And my physical therapist. But the key parts are from her. "You do," I confirm.

"And considering that you will most probably be promoted for this or a future mission, why should I expend any effort in calling you by your rank?"

"I don't know, politeness maybe?"

"Work on that memory of yours, Anderson," she told me, and slipped back inside.

And I got escorted back to where my men were keeping an eye on the humvee we were supposed to use. Wouldn't have been safe to have everyone sitting inside it for however long the meeting had taken.

**~~**

**2009:**

I was at the Farm when I ran into her next. Not really ran, but you couldn't say bumped either.

I was minding my own business, eating my lunch, when I hear and feel a stack of papers - folders - dropped to the tabletop next to my tray. I took a reasoned guess as to where whomever it was had dropped them was standing, and I asked them, "Can I help you?"

"Lunchtime's over, Anderson," she told me. "Time to work on your penmanship."

You would not believe how much I rolled my eyes at that statement. I looked her in the - okay, I fixed my gaze on where she was talking - and said, "Agent Clarke, we meet again. Wish I could say it was under better circumstances, but you probably didn't get the memo about -"

"You're blind. Not an excuse."

"What?"

"Where do you want to work when you finish your training, Anderson?" And, naturally, I didn't get a chance to answer before she did: "Always have an ace in the hole."

"And what good is dotting my **t** s and crossing my **i** s going to do me?" I asked her.

"The element of surprise. And practice."

"To what end? I'm already fluent in Braille and four variants thereof."

That's where Abish went quiet. Even now, I'm not sure what expression was crossing her face. Maybe more than one. "So you want things easy?"

"I never said that," I pointed out.

"Ask yourself, Anderson; ask yourself what it is you want. If you don't want to challenge yourself, I advise you to ask to be shown to the door."

"And if I want a challenge?" I ask. "Not to be confused with the impossible."

"The impossible just takes a little longer," Clarke said, and took me a week to find out who she was quoting there. "And here's a hint, no paper is perfectly smooth. Show me what you can do."

"And if I can't?"

"If you don't try hard, and fail, you wash out; you might luck out with a posting at Ramstein folding laundry. But if you try your best, and fail, you'll never see me again."

Now bear in mind, her voice could never be called sexy... but that wasn't the point. The point was that her tone carried the promise of spirited debate over beers. You know, what you and I have. Would _you_ throw that away?

"Okay," I said. "Where do I turn these papers in, when I'm done with them?"

"Hand them to anyone. They'll be forwarded to my desk."

And that was the last I saw of her until I started working for Joan.

**~~**

**Early 2010:**   
**The DPD:**

I marched myself right into Joan's office, not budging one inch as she silently emptied her office of whomever it was she had been talking to.

"Yes, Auggie?" Joan asked me once the door had shut. Give her credit, she didn't sound mad, least not at me.

"Clarke's office is being boxed up," I informed her. Granted, Clarke worked under Joan, so she _should have known_ , but still... Joan wouldn't have let her just leave. Not without giving a really really good reason why.

"I know," is all Joan said.

"We haven't recieved confirmation she's dead," I insisted.

"We're doing everything we can, Auggie. Neither our allies nor our sister agencies have heard from her for the past three weeks. None of our enemies have informed us they have anyone matching her description."

I knew that. I knew all that. But still... "Jai," I muttered.

"Yes, Auggie, what about him?" Joan asked me.

"All I know is that she was working on something with him." It wasn't until a lot later, that I found out who else was working on it with them. Ben Mercer.

And when Ben went AWOL, that put Abish in danger. She was relying on him, and look where it got her. You don't have to be blind to get hung out to dry.

"And yes, Auggie, I've even reached out to Abish's contacts in the Iranian and Georgian intelligence communities," the people you would get in trouble if it were public knowledge we were speaking to them, the people you can't turn - and can't turn you, and you make discrete inquiries to about if their government is behind this latest event - fully expecting them to ask you the same.

"No dice?" I ask.

"They promised to let me know if they heard any whispers," Joan says. And then we'd owe them. Nothing major - we don't officially exist, after all - but a favor is a favor, a string you pull at just the right moment.

"It's on my head, Joan."

I think she made a wry smile there. "Thanks, Auggie, but Clarke's one of mine. This is my neck on the line."

"Anything I can do?" I wanted to keep on the search, on top of my regular workload, like I had done the past two and a half weeks. But I also knew there was only so long I could do that.

"There's some chatter coming out of Panama," Joan said. "We suspect the PKK may be getting friendly with some rather unsavory characters."

"My Kurdish is a little rusty, but I'm on it," I say, and return to my desk.

 ****

~~

****

One of the things about our work that took me a while to come to terms with, is the sort of things that might have happened to Abish Clarke. A.k.a. the things that could happen to any one of us in the field.

We might die in an alley or a rice field or a rocky crevasse. No one would know.

We might change our identities and retire in some out of the way locale. It would pretty much be a self-given burn notice, making us persona non grata if we needed help at any point thereafter.

We might get turned and hired by the enemy. Or just turned. Or it could be done by one of our allies.

Or we try to find a legend. Like Jason Bourne.


	3. working with Annie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Auggie remembers. (takes place in the future; not sure how far from now)

_There's a lot about your predecessor you don't know, actually. Yeah, you sit at her desk more than she ever did. Not what I meant._

 _Let me tell you about Annie Walker. Of course the parts that were cleared. I know my job._

**~~**

**High Point University, NC:**

 **Late 2011:**

I joined up with Annie Walker and Hala Grant at one of the open plazas by the stairways and water basins, having just arrived from Langley, and the two ladies back from the field.

No, Hala's not Agency. She's a friend of mine from ATF. She's more of a desk jockey than I ever was, but she wears hearing aids large enough to hide transmitters in - seriously, great for undercover work. And she's got a great eye for how people move.

So she and I were helping Annie improve that 'disappear into a crowd' that is probably the most irritating cliche you see in movies. And the one that doesn't come natural for anybody. Not even for Salt, if she were really real.

"You did good," she tells Annie. "Neutralized your distinctiveness. Averaged your pace."

"Thank you," Annie said and signed.

"Now for the bad news," I told Annie.

"Oh come on, Auggie," Annie protested. I know, I know, it was cold out. But compared with where she could get sent, it was barely nippy. "I'm doing everything right. She said so." Did I forget to mention Annie's good at sign language? "What gives?"

"Your heels," I told her. "You're too used to having them elevated. Remember, muscle memory -"

"Betrays us all," she said along with me.

"You _do_ realize you're buying after we finish," Annie said.

"Only if the sun's still up," I said. "Ready?"

I won't repeat what her reply was.

**~~**

**2012:**

 **Auggie's Office, Langley:**

"Say that again?" Oh I heard her just fine. But I wanted to hear her say it again. Some things in life are definately worth it.

"There's a Mingus Tribute performance next week, and I got you tickets to go see it," Annie says, smiling as she tells it to me.

"You're more than my hero," I say.

"Yeah, well, before you start building me a shrine, you should know I need a favor."

Mingus never comes cheap. "Big one?" I ask. "Are you - nodding?"

Annie giggled. "No. Just had a dramatic pause."

"That's mean, Walker. So, how small a favor, then?"

 ****

~~

 _There's more to know about Annie, but that's enough for right now. Maybe next time I'll tell you about the last time any of us saw her._ Of course _there's a reason why we don't all think she was killed in action._

 _Annie would like you. I know it._


End file.
